Free Loose Cannon by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller Page B

Lil.
    "Order your repairs," she said, standing up.
"And you'll--both--be ready to come with me in one hour."
    She sauntered off toward her cabin and I
looked at my sister, standing there with her hand clenched 'round
that money, and her cheeks flushed with lust of it and I sighed and
hovered a second between sad and mad; figured neither would mend it
and stood up myself.
    "I'll take first shower," I said, tossing
the cup into the unit as I went past.
    At the door I looked back, but she was
showing back to me, head half-tipped, like she hadn't even noticed
that I'd gone.
    * * *
    WE WANDERED, that endless afternoon,
visiting trade-bars, dives, and talking-booths on both sides of the
river. Some places folk eyed us; some places they eyed our
employer. Other places they ignored us entirely, and those I liked
least of all.
    The last was near the city-line, close
enough to the Temple that the evening chant echoed off the dirty
windows and the tawdry buildings, making even Cly Nelbern look up
for a moment before turning down the short, ill-kept walk.
    This place at least made some pretense of
cleanliness: the window was clear enough to let the evening light
come through; the bar was chipped but polished; the tender's
tattered apron had recently been washed.
    I was three steps into the
room before I realized why it felt so comfortable. It reminded me
of Mona Luki :
desperately ship-shape and tidy; and showing the worn spots despite
it.
    It hadn't always been so.
When Mam and Jake had run her, back when I was little enough to be
strapped in a net slung between their seats, watching baby-eyed
while they worked the Jumps between them--then Mona Luki'd gleamed, oiled and
cared-for and prosperous as you like. Then there'd been
coffee--yes, and chocolate--and repairs when they were needed and
spare parts in third hold. Lil was too young to remember those
days--too young, just, to remember Jake, killed in the same mishap
that had taken Mam's leg.
    I'd dreamed that accident; I'd even told
Mam. They'd gone out to make the repair anyway, of course, as who,
save on Sintia, would not? I'd climbed into the netting with the
baby and held her til Mam started to scream.
    Six years old, I was then, but it got me
thinking hard about dreams.
    "So!" That was Cly Nelbern and here was the
present. I came alert to both, sending my gaze along hers to the
man in Sintian town clothes--shabby, bright blue overshirt, bold
with raveling embroidery, darker blue pants, worn wide and loose in
respect of the heat, with matching fancy-work around the hems.
    He had a tired face, used honestly, I
thought, with eyes showing desperation far back. Likely I looked
the same: respectability balanced on the knife-edge of despair,
needing only one more disaster to send us all over into
thieves.
    He gulped, brown eyes darting from her face
to mine, barely glancing from me to Lil before his face softened a
touch and he bowed, gesturing toward the rear of the little
room.
    "I have a table, La--ma'am." His voice was
agreeable, though it quavered. Nelbern shrugged and pushed
forward.
    "Delightful," she said, and the edge in her
voice put the shine of fear in his eyes. "Lead on."
    It was a small enough table in a snug,
ill-lit corner, tight seating for four, but he'd clearly been
expecting only her.
    "My--companions," Cly
Nelbern said to his startled glare. "Captain Fiona and Ms. Lillian
Betany, of the Mona Luki ."
    It gave me a chill, being named there, and
by the sudden dart of Lil's eyes, it chilled her, too. But she
stayed tight where she was, perched on a chair crammed next to the
man--and Cly Nelbern smiled.
    "Well?" she said, and the icy edge was back
in her voice. "Where is it?"
    He gulped, sent a hunted glance around the
room at my back and firmed his face to look at her.
    "In the office at the Port House, Lady. And
that's where it's going to stay."
    Nelbern didn't frown, which was what I
expected. She picked up her drink and had a sip, eyeing him over
the chipped